On a airport layover, a man recognizes a woman for whom he had an intimate encounter many years before. His mind goes back to their brief time together as he recollects memories of an experience he believed long dormant and forgotten.

On a airport layover, a man recognizes a woman for whom he had an intimate encounter many years before. His mind goes back to their brief time together as he recollects memories of an experience he believed long dormant and forgotten.

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Submitted: January 18, 2016

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Submitted: January 18, 2016

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Despite the three-hour layover, the airport didn't seem that bad. The panoply of life around him offered an interesting blend of culture. He contented himself with people-watching, something
his busy life hadn’t allowed for some time. The most interesting people were those rushing onto and out of the gate doors of their flights. They either had a look of urgency or relief, depending on
whether they were getting on or off the plane.

His eye caught sight of a woman dressed somewhat casually in a black pants and a smart black and white long-sleeved blouse. His mind went through the quick process of sizing her up, that she
was his age or probably a few years younger, that she was traveling alone, that she was probably traveling for pleasure since she only carried a small bag. As she moved closer to him, he took
account of her face and shoulder-length sandy blonde hair. Her complexion was light, though not pale, but healthy. Her eyes were round, as though she always wore a look of surprise and delight. It
wasn’t until she was a few feet away, just as she was about to pass him, that the synapses in his brain triggered a hit in the bank of his memory.

She had a look of familiarity, of someone he had seen before, though he wasn’t sure of the context. Just about the time her image began to blend in with the masses, she stopped and turned
toward one of the yogurt/frozen custard mini-shops along the concourse. His eyes stayed on her as she purchased a cup of what looked to be ice cream, but he couldn’t tell from the distance. To his
delight, instead of walking on she sat at a nearby table and positioned herself in such a way that he held a clear view of her face. It was then that it clicked.

It was a Saturday night in December nearly twenty years before. He was in his second year of grad school and had just finished finals the day before. He wasn't really sure of all the circumstances
which brought them together, other than they shared mutual friends – friends of friends as it were. How else could there be a connection between himself and a freshman undergrad? The stress of
finals had been lifted and the university, no longer teeming with the wonderful chaos of its twenty thousand students, settled into a quiet town of buildings and monuments. Like him and a few
others, she had stayed behind a few extra days after the last final, waiting as did all those whose hometowns were a long distance away. The university and the small city it occupied was theirs, at
least for the night.

She was a tag-along, a third person who accompanied her older friend with him to the movies. The three of them shared little conversation, but each felt very much at ease with the impromptu
gathering. The movie allowed them to waste a little time in recovery, much like the relaxed elation a runner feels at the end of a long race.

With little else to do, it was agreed that after the movie he take both girls back to their dorms. It was then that his older friend made the recommendation he drop her off first at their dorm,
then take her freshman friend to her dorm as it was on the way to his house.

"I don't want her walking back from my dorm this late. You don't mind, do you?" she asked him.

"Of course not," he responded.

Left alone with the freshman, he drove off on the short ride to the next dorm. As the moments were filled with small talk, it occurred to him that it was the first time they had ever been alone.
The awkwardness that normally fills the air in these kinds of situations never materialized. In fact, he felt even more at ease. She wasn't shy, but neither was she assertive. He found her
pleasant. She exuded a quiet confidence, and he was drawn to her company. She was also pleasant looking, somewhat pretty though not striking. He hadn't really taken a full inventory of her features
until she asked a surprising question when he pulled the car into the parking lot.

"Would you like to come in?"

"Sure," he answered almost without thinking, as if no other response was even possible. "Is it okay to go up?"

"No one's here. It's okay," she assured him, but in a way that wasn't peppered with feminine temptation.

In any other instance, he'd have let his mind race with the possibilities. After all, it was the kind of proposition which had varying connotations. But as he walked with her to her room, he didn't
let his mind wander beyond what it really was, just a girl he casually knew wanting to talk and spend a little time with a guy. All she could offer him was half of her bed to sit a little
uncomfortably, while she sat on the other half.

Yet even in the coziness of closed quarters, he didn’t feel confined. Before long she asked if he wanted a drink. He was impressed with her willingness to make him comfortable.

She reached into her dorm mini-fridge for the ice and Coke and pulled the bottle of Jim Beam from a conspicuous hiding spot on the bookshelf. He admired the dexterity by which she measured the
proportions of ice to Coke to bourbon. She gingerly handed him his drink in a plastic stadium cup as though it was a special elixir. He took a generous sip, pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t as
weak as he presumed it would be. He smiled in approval and she smiled back. He sat back and made himself comfortable, signaling by his body language that he would be there a while to delight in her
company.

“You want to watch TV?” she asked, thinking she needed to entertain him. Without waiting for an answer, she turned on the television switch. He looked at his watch to figure out which programs were
running.

“Just after 11:35. I think Saturday Night Live is on,” he casually offered.

She turned the channel selector until it reached channel five. She then playfully jumped back onto her bed and leaned back onto the wall to get a better view of the screen. He realized that she was
closer to him as she took a drink from her own plastic cup. He watched the show, but found himself watching her watch the show. It became apparent to him that he would have to kiss her. He hadn’t
yet been affected by the alcohol, but it wasn’t alcohol that affected his resolve. It was something of familiarity, of a natural moment where it isn’t a matter of making a decision, but more a
matter of following instinct.

He adjusted himself closer to her so that they were sitting just inches apart. He moved his drink to his other hand and took another large sip, and as if in a single motion his free hand reached
around her neck and rested on her shoulder. She relaxed her neck to his touch. He gave her another long look, eyeing her blonde, wavy shoulder-length hair a while before turning her face to his. He
leaned in slowly and deliberately kissed her. It was a kiss he held for a long time, savoring her and enjoying the ease of soft, responsive lips. He didn’t have any real expectations, though in the
spontaneity of the moment his mind relished how good she felt.

He wanted more and ventured to lay her on her back. To his delight she accommodated him. With her beneath him he continued to kiss her playfully, creating a futile distraction while his hands
reached beneath her shirt. She only put up a token resistance, as if to say I really shouldn’t and I’m only letting you do this because I like you. Her skin was soft under the touch of his fingers.
He slowed his advance to enjoy the moment, pausing briefly to tease her with a light gliding of his hands on her belly. When he reached her bra, he caressed her breasts with a firm command. To his
delight, they were more ample than they appeared hidden beneath her rugby shirt. Quite simply, her breasts were large in proportion to the slenderness of her limbs.

Out of a hungered curiosity, he lifted her shirt swiftly. She obliged by raising her arms up over her head. He gathered the now useless shirt and dropped it silently to the floor. She looked
suddenly out of character in a bra. He didn’t think twice before reaching around to unhook her top, as if he was trying to correct the scene before him. He didn’t give her much time to think about
it before the bra joined the shirt on the floor. He sat up and beheld her, marveling at her vulnerability. He cupped her breasts gently at first, then caressed them, closing his eyes to allow his
hands to explore for themselves, that somehow the reality isn’t enough to see but also to feel.

“They’re lovely,” he said to her in a voice just above a whisper.

He continued kissing her as his hands ventured back down her belly and conspicuously to her jeans. They were neither loose nor tight, but because of her slenderness, they gave no real clue to her
shape. The jeans had to go. He unbuttoned them deftly, but didn’t try to hide what he was doing. By now he was reasonably sure that she wouldn’t object, though he didn’t want to presume anything by
moving too fast. He sat up to pull up the cuffs, but since her legs were long, he didn’t have much room on the bed to maneuver. He extended his arms and open hands to her.

“Take my hands,” he offered.

She complied as he pulled her up and stood her on the floor. He could tell by her hesitancy that she wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“It’s okay,” he added reassuringly.

She stepped out of her jeans, standing there in only her panties. No longer kissing or exploring each other, both suddenly became aware of the surroundings. The ambiance wasn’t right -- it was too
bright and too noisy. He walked over to the light switch and flipped it off, and she turned off the television. He rejoined her quickly, somehow thinking that if he didn’t he would lose the moment
or worse, lose her interest. They stood together, standing and facing each other as he removed his shirt and his jeans. He hesitated before taking off his boxer shorts. Silly, he thought to
himself, that I can’t take off my boxers until her panties come off first.

In many ways it was a perfect encounter, free from the tension and guesswork of sloppy foreplay. He could tell from her unspoken signals that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She took from
him as much as he wanted to give. It was as though she was a gift of sorts, a reward for some good deed. But to consider her a gift lessened her stature, for she was pleasant, affable and beneath
her baggy clothes, wonderfully desirable. It was fortune that smiled on him, a package that got better the more he unwrapped.

He embraced her again and let his hands slide down her back as he drew closer. He caressed her butt cheeks and continued lower to her thighs. To his surprise, they weren’t as smooth as he
anticipated. He looked down in the dim grayness of the room, as though his eyes could somehow confirm what his fingers discovered.

“You’re legs aren’t shaved,” he said, almost as though he were asking a question.

“No,” she replied, almost apologetically.

He couldn’t suppress a giggle in the sudden lightness of the moment. And, as if to indicate that he didn’t mind, he ran his hands along her thighs again, caressing them and kissing her forehead.
She turned her head upward and kissed him back. Pulling his hands back up to her waist, his fingers probed just inside her panty leg. He spread his hands as he lowered her panties down. As the
fabric dropped to her ankles, he reached for the waistband of his own boxers. It was foolish of him to think that he could hide his desire for her, but still he maintained a modesty about showing
his own erection. He asked her a question he had never asked of anyone before.

“Are you protected?”

“No,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Had he asked her the question while they were still clothed, the answer may have made a difference, but as it were, they had reached the point of no return. It wasn’t a question of whether or not
he was going to make love to her, but more of the freedom and careless abandon he could take. She lay back on the bed and he followed from the foot of the bed, ascending onto her and approaching
from between her legs. Before he entered her, he knew that this wasn’t her first time, just as he innately knew that she sensed he was experienced. It was comforting to him to know that she was
neither scared, nor self-conscious, nor overly concerned about the consequences. He felt that she trusted him, and he relished that trust.

Following the contour of her inner thighs, he found and pressed himself inside. Even though he held a comfortable position above her, he still compelled himself to lean in to kiss her before
lifting himself up again. She was ready for him as they began the undulating movement of their bodies together. He desired to be entangled with her body, for her softness to be entwined with him.
He lifted up her left leg and placed it over his right shoulder and then her right leg over his left shoulder. Her legs were almost vertical while her back held horizontal as resumed pressing into
her. He reached over for her hands and held them down, subduing her arms over her head. His pulse raced with each stroke and he hastened his rhythm with each quickened breath he could hear
emanating from her mouth.

It wouldn’t be long now before he would reach rapture. Still, despite the intensity of his arousal, he was well aware that she was unprotected. He wanted to release inside of her, for no particular
reason other than to show her that he desired her. He wanted to share of himself in that selfish way that young men do. Maybe some of it was that he wanted to possess her, to put his stamp, his
claim, on her. He wanted nothing more than to stay inside of her, her insides wrapped around him as he wrapped the his torso and limbs around her. Yet when the time approached, he cautiously
removed himself and quietly experienced ecstasy in an almost emotionless relief.

In the stillness of the afterglow he kissed her passionately in a bid to distract her from the sudden stillness and recharge himself. With his hands and fingers he tickled her goose-bumped arms and
shoulders, rolling his fingers back and forth as he kissed her lips, nose and neck. He wasn’t sure how long it took, but soon he was ready again, taking up the same position above her. Her
acquiescence signaled that she was ready again. He entered her as before and pressed with a determined purpose. He focused more on her reaction in order to read her body.

This time, however, she responded with less aplomb, as though she was just going through the motions. Her undulations appeared out of sync with his. Had it suddenly become an empty act? Had he
misread her? Should he stop? Though he couldn’t bring himself to stop, he still had the wherewithal to pull out when the release came.

He wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed, but he perceived an unusual silence from her as they both lay on the bed in the aftermath. He waited for a signal, a sign, a word or movement that
indicated everything was okay. Yet he heard nothing. He ventured to ask.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, but he could sense no conviction from her reply.

He took it as a signal that he should go. After all, he began feeling the alcohol and didn’t want to ruin a good evening by doing or saying something foolish.

“I should probably go,” he offered.

“Okay,” she responded, again without conviction, so he couldn’t tell if it was sincere or obligatory.

“Thank you,” was all that he could think to say.

Feeling inadequate with his words, he leaned over and kissed her again. He then rose up and put on his clothes. He didn’t expect her to ask him to spend the night. Still, he hoped that she would
ask and that he could valiantly refuse. He wanted her to see the regret of having to leave her. However, the question never came up.

He wondered about her as he drove back to his house that night. He wondered about her as he made the long drive back to his hometown days later. Over the holiday break he thought of her and of the
gift of the encounter. He was most curious about what she was thinking in their last moments together.

By the time the school resumed a few weeks later, he dove headfirst into an intense semester of study, denying himself many of the social interactions he’d enjoyed just a few months earlier. He
dedicated his time to finishing his second and most difficult year of graduate work. He didn’t meet up with his movie friend for nearly two months. When they did meet, he hoped she would have her
freshman friend with her.

For some reason it didn’t seem as simple as picking up the phone and calling the freshman girl. He relied on circumstance, yet circumstances didn’t cooperate with his design. By the end of the
academic year, he heard through the grapevine that she had withdrawn from school, a casualty of low grades and unforgiving parents.

She finished her ice cream and stood up slowly. The years had been kind to her, and even in travel clothes her feminine curves more than subtly revealed the slender girlish shape of twenty
years before. As she gathered her small bag, he willed himself to stand up. However, his legs didn’t move. It was as though he was in a panic dream where his body refused the brain’s command. A
part of him wanted to leap up and run over to her, to shower her with nostalgia and “remember when’s.”

But what could he say, other than “hello” and “remember me?” He watched as her figure slowly diminished into the throng of the airport crowd. She disappeared behind one person only to reappear
slightly smaller the further she walked, then she was gone for good. He smiled, thankful at least for the reminiscence.